


i know that you're wearing a wire

by ellipsesificate



Category: Mighty Morphin Power Rangers, Power Rangers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Never Met, M/M, blatant disinterest for actual legal procedures in the American 90s, cop & criminal au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-27
Updated: 2017-06-27
Packaged: 2018-11-18 17:13:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11295105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellipsesificate/pseuds/ellipsesificate
Summary: Even if he has to do it by himself, Bulk is more or less ready to earn his spot on the force. Eugene Skullovitch messes that up.





	i know that you're wearing a wire

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SweetPollyOliver](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetPollyOliver/gifts).



> thematically and tonally, "i'm coming after you" by owl city is a better song inspiration but when you're listening to that and "orange ball of love" by the mountain goats back to back over and over, what line you're gonna steal for a title becomes a toss up. 
> 
> the "pencil in a microwave" mention was a thing that happened in the sixth grade and the shirt that bulk accidentally compliments is the one that skull was wearing in "bloom of doom" bc i like red shirts they're great.
> 
> this entire idea veered wildly away from what i originally envisioned and now it's 5.5k of bullshit set up ;(

“Not to sound critical or anything, Lieutenant Stone,” Bulk said, looking over the file skeptically, “but you said this was gonna be a big case.”

“If I appear to have exaggerated, it’s only because no one else in this department takes this threat seriously.”  

With his polished badge and primly straightened hat, Lieutenant Jerome Stone looked every bit the professional figure of authority Bulk was supposed to look up to. At the moment, Bulk wondered if Stone was just as crazy as the rest of Angel Grove. Sensing his protégé’s doubt, Stone tapped the open page of the file meaningfully. Beneath the commanding presence of his finger, a young man’s photograph sneered up at them.

“I know this doesn’t look like much.”

“Doesn’t really look like anything, sir.”

" _But_ ,” Stone continued with a sharp look for the interruption, “I’ve had my eye on the suspect since he was in middle school, and I’ve been trying to nail him for nearly as long. Trouble is that he’s a wily one - sometimes I’ll be able to catch him on something minor, but usually he skips out on the scene before I can connect him to it, or wiggles away while something more serious goes down. Unfortunately, no one else in the department takes the threat he poses to our community seriously, making it difficult for me to pursue him. Apparently, keeping an eye on a new potential drug ring is more important. That’s where you come in, Bulkmeier.”

The last sentence nudged at Bulk’s interest, distracting him from trying to decide whether or not the peaky face in the photo looked familiar or not. Someone he ran into on patrol, maybe. “Me, sir?”

Stone nodded somberly. “You’re still new enough that no one will question me handing off a minor case off to you, _but_ ,” he added when Bulk’s face crumpled, “I have absolute faith in your abilities as a member of the Angel Grove police force, and in your grit and determination, that you will finally accomplish what I could not and bust this delinquent, once and for all.”

With each word, Bulk sat up straighter and looked more alert, eyes brightening with that same starry-eyed enthusiasm he had first joined the Junior Patrol with - something unseen for a long time. With newfound resolve, Bulk thumbed through the file again, only for his face momentarily blank with surprise when he finally noticed the suspect’s name. There were only so many Skullovitches in Angel Grove, after all. “Hey, I think I went to school with this kid.”

Stone went still. “Oh?  Did you know him well?”

“He once tried to cook a pencil in a school microwave, made really weird noises in class all the time, and stuck a popsicle down my back in the third grade. I did my best to not know him at all.”

Stone raised an eyebrow, but otherwise deigned not to comment. “See it as an advantage, Bulkmeier.  You already have working knowledge of your enemy - utilize it!  Take what you have and build upon that, and prove to everyone here what you’re capable of.”

It did the trick. Shooting out of his seat, Bulk snapped off a salute and a grin, folder held tightly in his other hand. “Don’t you worry, Lieutenant Stone - I’m on the case!”

“God bless you, Officer Bulkmeier,” Stone said approvingly as Bulk hurried out of the office. “And may you finally bring the nefarious Graffiti Bandit to justice.”  

Once he was certain that Bulk was out of sight and hearing, he slumped in his chair and sighed, removing his cap to flick off a piece of flint. He’d feel bad, but there were more things at stake greater than a little bit of hyperbole. He could only hope that he was doing the right thing.

* * *

Stone’s advice about using what Bulk already knew about the suspect seemed like a great idea in the middle of a pep talk. In light of what little Bulk could remember of Eugene Skullovitch, it was about as unappealing as it could get.

For one thing, he had nothing except for rumours to work with after Skullovitch had dropped out of school in the middle of junior year. Some people claimed that he’d tried and failed to start Angel Grove’s local drug empire, others said that he’d been roped into a racketeering scheme involving overpriced headlight fluid. One intrepid gossip insisted he had left school to become a cruising entrepreneur's boytoy, a claim so surpassing credulity that it was the dominant belief well until the end of the year. By the time summer vacation was over the rumours lost interest, and everyone only remembered Skullovitch as that kid with the godawful laugh.

In any case, while the old speculations were far more serious than Lieutenant Stone’s accusations of rampant graffiti vandalism, that didn’t mean Bulk shouldn’t at least consider the possibility that Skullovitch might really have delved into more abominable crimes. Which meant that catching him red-handed needed to be his highest priority.

It’d been a long time since Bulk had last skipped school, but he was pretty sure Caplan wouldn’t have a problem if it was for the sake of his new Junior Police Patrol duties. In fact, he was sure that Caplan was so relieved that he was over his rebellious stint as a freshman that he would allow just about anything to ensure that Bulk remained firmly on the side of justice. Which was great, because Bulk had a stakeout to enact.

Criminals always returned to the scene of the crime - mostly. Usually. Whether or not every criminal returned to all of their crime scenes in general didn’t matter. The very M.O. behind graffiti suggested an egotistical demand for attention, an arrogance that drew the perpetrator back to appreciate his art (or so Stone claimed the last time he had Bulk scrub away the Graffiti Bandit’s prior rampage). All Bulk had to do was set up shop, and see if Skullovitch came by.

In all honesty, Bulk thought as he watched the besmirched side of the Youth Center with bored intensity from a park bench, he thought that police work would be a lot more exciting. Car chases, gun fights, babes hanging off his arms - instead, it was a lot of patrolling and complaining about litter. Right now, police work was staring at a half-heartedly vandalised wall and trying to eat the ice cream he’d gotten to tide him over before it dripped onto his uniform. If it weren’t for the regular monster attacks, police work in Angel Grove would be just about the most boring gig imaginable.

Still, Bulk himself was only dealing with rookie stuff. This was the biggest case Lieutenant Stone had ever entrusted to him solo, and as much as it might be easier to just throw off any attempt at responsibility and maturity and go back to his old, slacking ways, this could be a real opportunity for him. Where exactly that opportunity was supposed to take him, he wasn’t sure, but if it meant winning over the approval of his peers, then it would probably be worth it.

An hour later, he felt differently. The starch in his collar itched against his neck, he had no napkin for his ice cream so his fingers were a sticky mess, and the most interesting thing he’d seen so far was two seagulls snapping at each other over some kid’s dropped chips (he’d rooted for the smaller one - it felt right), and sitting here by himself was so beyond depressing that he was already mentally writing out his resignation letter. He was about to call it a day and see if going home and playing video games would give him any fresh ideas when someone called his name.

“Well, Bulk!” He jumped at the sound of Kimberly Hart’s voice at his shoulder, and turned around to catch her bemused expression. Billy Cranston hovered behind her, along with those three new transfer students they’d started hanging around. “Is this what Angel Grove’s finest get to do all day? Skip school and eat ice cream?”

A few years ago, this line of questioning would have been condescending and hostile. There also would have been a possibility that Bulk deserved it. Now though, while her tone was dry, there was enough cursory friendliness in Kim’s voice that he could easily squash the instinct to bark back.

“For your information,” he said, injecting a pomposity he couldn’t quite feel, “I’m on a top-secret stakeout for Angel Grove’s most wanted.”

“Rita Repulsa?” one of the transfer students - Ricky? - asked blankly.

Bulk sneered at him. “ _No_. But if she wasn’t on the moon, let me tell you...no. I’m on the hunt for—” He puffed up his chest. “—the Graffiti Bandit!”

Maybe-Ricky snorted and Kim giggled, but Billy at least had the courtesy to look impressed. “So the police are investigating these incidents of defacement? That’s fantastic, we were actually on our way to the Youth Center to assist Ernie with cleaning—”

“Hey!” Bulk jabbed a finger at him, and Billy quickly shut up. “Don’t mess with my evidence, I _need_ that!”

“How about if we find anything suspicious, we let you know?” Aisha offered. Out of the transfer students, she was probably the one he liked best, if only because he once saw her flip a guy twice her size and had to respect that.

“Ugh, fine. But if you cost me my case, you’ll be sorry.”

“Are there any suspects yet?” the last transfer student asked, a quiet guy who probably didn’t have a name as far as Bulk was concerned.

“Only one.” If he hadn’t forgotten his sunglasses at home, he’d take the moment to whip them off dramatically. “ _Eugene Skullovitch._ ”

Kim’s laugh was unattractive and definitely meant to insult this time. “ _Eugene?_ Are you serious?”

Bristling, Bulk glared at her. “Of course I am - so is Lieutenant Stone.”

Even Billy looked skeptical. “Are you really sure Eugene Skullovitch…?”

“ _Yes_ , Eugene Skullovitch!”

“What kind of name is Eugene Skullovitch?” Maybe-Ricky asked out loud. He was ignored.

“No offense to you or the lieutenant,” Kim said, “but even if Eugene was the one who did this—”  

She paused long enough for a considering glance over at the vandalised wall in question. Bulk himself wasn’t sure if it was supposed to depict a dragon devouring the Power Rangers or the processes of a demon dog cult, and heavily considered asking her opinion.

“Okay, that’s definitely Eugene’s handiwork, but are you seriously going to act like _Eugene Skullovitch_ is some sort of criminal mastermind?”

Bulk’s ability to project pomposity was cracking, but he’d be damned before he let that show. “What, like you ever understood what was ever going on his head? Maybe he really did turn out to be a mob kingpin. _You_ don’t know.”

“Seriously,” Maybe-Ricky said again, “who the hell is this Eugene guy?”

Kim sighed and shook her head. “Whatever. Do you gotta do, Bulk.”

The group started to move off, but then Kim hesitated and looked back at Bulk. “Hey, you know, we were gonna get milkshakes after we helped out at Ernie’s. Did you wanna come?”

And Bulk paused, took a moment to really look at the group - Kim and Aisha twining their arms together as Kim leaned against Billy’s shoulder, the other two guys already losing interest and playfully nudging each other. Suddenly, he very much just wanted to go home.

“Nah,” he heard himself saying, “you guys go on ahead.  I’ve got a date.”

Everyone raised their eyebrows.

“A date…?” Billy asked, hesitant.

“With justice.” By beating up some video game baddies, but these dweebs didn’t need to know that.

Kim gave him a strange look.

* * *

Maybe things would have ended there. Catching the Graffiti Bandit would lose its appeal until he struck again and Lieutenant Stone urged him on, but his zeal would hit diminishing returns. The case would be quietly dropped, and Bulk would have continued to try and slug through the trivialities of police work.

As it was, Bulk caught up to Skullovitch only an hour later. It was much less climactic than he had hoped for. He’d stopped at the convenience store before heading home, and was browsing through the magazine rack indifferently when someone knocked into his shoulder and immediately dropped to the ground.

“Watch it,” Bulk said on instinct, already turning with an outstretched hand before freezing. He didn’t know if this was fate, or if he was just that good of a cop, but there was his suspect. Splayed on the ground with a vaguely surprised look on his face, spiked collar around his neck, and a pack of gum poking out of his pocket.

“Yeah, my bad,” Eugene Skullovitch said as he sat up, grabbing Bulk’s still proffered arm and hoisting himself up. Not casually, though - no, for some reason Skullovitch had to wrap both arms around Bulk’s, long fingers digging into his arm and longer legs scrabbling against the linoleum as he maneuvered himself back into standing position. Had he been any more substantial than a scarecrow, he would have dragged Bulk down to the floor with him.

The immediate physicality was so casual, so sudden, and so utterly outside the bounds of socially acceptable interaction that Bulk almost didn’t notice the paint freckled on his hands, or how Skullovitch not-so-subtly shoved the still-wrapped gum pack further into his pocket.

“Sorry ‘bout that, officer,” Skullovitch said, tugging at his collar before clapping a hand to Bulk’s shoulder as Bulk continued to mentally grapple with the sheer unlikelihood of this entire incident. “I’ll watch where I’m goin’ in the future, ‘kay?”

And with that, Skullovitch ambled away, door chiming with his exit as Bulk’s mind caught up to the situation.

“Hey!” He turned, patting down his jacket for a walkie-talkie, a handcuff, even pepper spray - all things not given to him as Junior Police, but things that would be very helpful in taking down a suspect. “Hey, get back here! I saw that, he didn’t pay for that—”

“Oh, just let ‘im go.”

Bulk paused halfway to the door, turning towards the cashier leaning against the counter, having watched the whole occurrence with the interest of someone with very little to look forward to in life. In all the years he’d been coming here and she’d been working here, she’d never worn a nametag, and so he’d always known her as Grouchy Old Bitch.  “Excuse me?”

Grouchy Old Bitch shrugged. “Kid comes in here all the time, takes a pack of gum. Boss lets him get away with it - s’not like he can really steal anything important.”

“Wha—you can’t just…” Bulk threw up his hands. Thoughts of giving up on the case were rapidly vanishing. “You’re just _encouraging crime!_ "

“Pretty sure I remember you stealing chocolate bars from here a few years ago.”

He immediately dropped his hands. “Well, I’m not doing that anymore,” he said petulantly, before stomping towards the door with one last backwards shot. “Just because the rest of this town is easy on delinquency, doesn’t mean that I’m going to stand aside!”

* * *

He would not stand aside, but despite his newfound resolution he did have to put the Graffiti Bandit case on hold for the next few days, in the wake of yet another monster attack that necessitated damage control after the Power Rangers had done their thing.

He did manage to give his update to Lieutenant Stone, regarding Skullovitch’s brazen crimes and the leniency of the local shops. “Absolutely nefarious,” Stone said grimly, before they were distracted by another property damage complaint.

The reassurance that Stone still took this mission seriously at least buoyed him through the next week. When the report came in of a new rash of graffiti staining the walls of various Angel Grove locales, Bulk was more than ready to get back to business.

First order of business was to retrace his steps. He pored over Skullovitch’s (admittedly scant) file until he had it memorized and poked around all the graffiti sites. He even returned to the convenience store a few times to strike up a casually interrogative chat with the cashier, who now took to groaning every time he walked in the door. Nothing brought forth any new information, nor did he cross paths with Skullovitch immediately. 

But just as luck had first found him in the convenience store, so did Aisha find him at school with a smeared spray can carefully sealed in a plastic bag.

“It was hiding in some bushes,” Aisha explained as Bulk snatched it, heart pounding. “I found it while we were cleaning, figured you might be able to get some fingerprints or something off of it. Almost forgot about it during that monster attack.”

Real, conclusive evidence that could nail Skullovitch as the Graffiti Bandit - nothing could give him more joy or confidence in his abilities as an officer. He opened his mouth to thank her. “I owe you my life.”

If Aisha was weirded out, she was very polite about it. “Okay, well - good luck catching your guy, then.”

“Don’t need it,” he said.

* * *

It started off well. Skullovitch’s prints were already on file after an incident of petty theft (of course), and the entire spraycan was dabbed with prints clear in the dried drips of paint. He’d barely even needed to break out the kit to confirm that they matched. And if that wasn’t enough, Skullovitch literally planted himself in Bulk’s path.

It was after school the next day, with Bulk bustling to get to the station early and so focused on resolving his first real case, not to mention the praise and gratitude that would follow, that he walked right by the very subject of his thoughts.

“Hey!”

The call made Bulk stop, turn, and stare. Skullovitch stared back, perched on top of the bike rack with a cigarette dangling from his fingers, which was only mildly annoying until he caught the flash of gum between Skullovitch’s teeth. “Are you seriously smoking and chewing gum at the same time?”

Skullovitch grinned. “Yeah!”

Regretfully, Bulk couldn’t think of any cool way to argue with how weird and gross that was. He went with what felt right in the moment. “You’re under arrest.”

The gum fell out of Skullovitch’s mouth as his jaw dropped. “C’mon, I didn’t even know that was illegal!”

“Don’t even try it,” Bulk snapped, making a grab for Skullovitch’s arm. Skullovitch allowed it, although he did look unnecessarily put upon for a criminal dumb enough to put himself on the warpath of Angel Grove’s finest Junior Police. “We’re going downtown.”

Skullovitch let out a sudden nervous cackle. “Well, that’s going a bit fast, but—”

He refused to be fazed by the non-sequiturs of a criminal mastermind. “Shut up, you have the right to remain silent, all that junk - just wait, I haven’t memorized that whole speech yet, but I have it written down at the station, so I can give it to you there. Also, don’t have any handcuffs on me, so don’t try to bolt, I’ll catch you.”

“Handcuffs!” Skullovitch exclaimed, delighted. Obviously because he couldn’t cope with the reality that his criminal career was over. Bulk shoved Skullovitch in front and prodded his back roughly.  Skullovitch followed the direction easily enough, only taking a moment to take a drag off his cigarette (Bulk had to remember to add smoking on school property to the charges) and twisting around slightly to wave at someone. Rather than let himself be distracted, Bulk steadfastly marched him onwards.

Unfortunately, there were no hard cuts from capturing the crook to the station like on the cop shows Bulk watched for inspiration when the minutiae of his work started to pile up. Nor did he have his own ride yet. As such…

“So, uh - Bulk, right?” Skullovitch stopped for half a step, twisting just enough so that Bulk stumbled into walking side by side with him. He took a drag off his cigarette, then flicked the butt off to the side. “Thought I recognized you the other day! Dunno if you remember, we ran into each other at the store?”

“ _You_ ran into _me_ ,” Bulk corrected, before remembering himself and pushing Skullovitch back in front. “And shut up, I don’t want a peep out of you until we’re at the station.”

“Technically, I don’t gotta shut up until you read me my rights. Makin’ me shut up before that means the arrest doesn’t mean anything.”

Bulk couldn’t remember enough about the Miranda rights to refute that. Maybe if he never responded, Skullovitch would keep quiet all on his own.

“But yeah, it’s been a while, hasn’t it? I mean, we didn’t really talk much - actually, I only keep in touch with a couple people from school, which is more than I ever hung out with actually at school, so life’s pretty sweet for me. You’re workin’ on being a cop? I heard about that, it’s pretty cool. I mean, not the coolest, cops suck, but I bet you really work the uniform.”

If he actually had his uniform, Skullovitch probably wouldn’t feel so free to chat, thanks to the intimidation factor of how well Bulk worked the outfit. Then again, his civvies made him feel like he’d caught Skullovitch while undercover. Now that was a pretty cool thought.

“Not a uniform guy myself - not like, that I _don’t_ like them, y’know? But that’s on other people. Don’t think I could ever see myself in a uniform, it looks boring. And itchy. Is it itchy? Do they let you like, jazz it up or anything? I really like the shirt you’re wearing by the way, is that the kind of thing they wouldn’t let you wear? ‘Cuz that would suck.”

Okay, just because no one had really complimented his tie-dyed t-shirt before even though it was definitely one of his favourites, he’d throw the kid a bone. “Uh, thanks. You’re shirt is pretty cool too.”

It wasn’t until Skullovitch turned around that Bulk realised that reciprocating the compliment might have been inappropriate, considering how deep V-neck of his red shirt highlighted his pale chest. But it was too late - Skullovitch was practically glowing.

Bulk had been _tricked_.

“Aw, thanks man - I had to beat this old lady off of it at the Goodwill, red wasn't her colour so really I was doing her a favour. She kicked my ass, but while the employees were pulling her offa me I got away with the shirt, so it worked out...”

Conversation did not improve from there. On and on, Skullovitch spoke at length about the fights he’d lost at Goodwill, and the one time he thought he’d won a fight at Goodwill but it turned out his opponent had been struck with a heart attack, and about why he was not yet technically banned from Goodwill.

Once it became that his adventures at Goodwill were an unending resource of one sided conversation, Bulk found himself and his prisoner veering for the nearest payphone with the thought of calling Lieutenant Stone to come pick them up. It might ruin the triumphant image of walking into the station with a crook in tow, but there was only so much of this chatter Bulk could suffer through alone.

Bulk’s attention on his suspect was briefly diverted as he rummaged through his pockets for change, but luckily Skullovitch didn’t seem particularly interested in making a break for it and leaned against the phone booth instead. At first, Bulk tried to keep watch from the corner of his eye, but then Skullovitch cocked his head and watched him back. Something about that gaze - the way his eyes traced him up and down - was unsettling, so Bulk just focused on counting out his money.

“So, uh,” Skullovitch said, shifting awkwardly as Bulk tried to figure out if he had enough quarters. “Not that I don’t like your company or anythin’, I think this is gonna be really great, but how long was this gonna take? Just ‘cause I got Animaniacs taped, and I’ve really been meaning to watch it...”

Bulk paused, coin poised at the slot. “Animaniacs?” he said, trying to keep his voice cool and casual.  “Didn’t think you’d watch something so cultured.”

If Skullovitch recognized the implicit minor insult, he didn’t acknowledge it. His whole body had brightened instead, grin growing and standing straighter. “Yeah! I just think it’s a real smart show, y’know?”

“I know!” Without thinking too hard about it, Bulk put his money back in his pocket and drawing Skullovitch away from the phone booth, resuming their path to the station. “Everyone keeps acting like it’s a dumb kid’s show, right, but dumb kids aren’t gonna get half the jokes!”

“Yeah!” Skullovitch nodded his head enthusiastically. A little bit of hair, sloppily tamed by product, flopped into his eyes. “And the theme song’s catchy.”

Now safely distracted from Goodwill, the conversation grew from there, the two of them trading their favourite gags and Warner siblings antics. At some point, Bulk had stopped forcing Skullovitch to stay in front of him and let him walk by his side, hands jammed into his pockets and yattering like they were just two friends out for a walk. By the time they arrived at the station, Bulk thought he could understand how the shows sometimes depicted cops and criminals getting on friendly terms. He almost felt sorry about having to throw Skullovitch in the slammer.

* * *

If Lieutenant Stone was surprised to see Skullovitch victoriously dumped at his desk, he was incredibly smooth about it.

“Eugene Skullovitch.” Each syllable came out smooth and enunciated as Stone slid the folder he’d been going through to the side, all the cool poise that Bulk really wished he had demonstrated earlier himself. “Come to pay your dues?”

Skullovitch shot a startled glance at Bulk. “Oh shit, you meant the actual police downtown?”

“Language,” Stone chided.

“Sorry. Oh shoot, you meant the actual police downtown?”

“What other kind of downtown could I mean?” Bulk snapped, and Stone’s eyes flickered between the two before pulling out the file and spreading pictures across the desk.

“Mr. Skullovitch,” Stone said, gesturing at the scenes of extreme graffiti violence, “do these look familiar to you?”

Skullovitch leaned over the pictures, squinting. “Uh, yeah? I see ‘em around town, I think everyone does.”

“Oh, come on!” Bulk burst out, causing Skullovitch to jump in his seat as Stone frowned. “Don’t play dumb, we know it was you!”

“What Junior Officer Bulkmeier means,” Stone said with a quelling look, “is that we have evidence that you were the perpetrator behind all of this. A spray can has been recovered with your fingerprints, so unless you have a really great alibi, it would be in your best interests to just fess up, son.”

Skullovitch stared blankly, mouth working slightly with the ghost of gum chewed past. “Uh...oh, yeah. That was probably me.”

“Wasn’t even a question,” Bulk said. He’d situated himself right behind Skullovitch, trying to practice his loom. It was something he used to be really good at, in middle school when he wanted to intimidate lunch money from nerds even though his allowance was sitting in his own pockets. It might have even used it on Skullovitch once.

Apparently, his loom wasn’t as effective as it used to be, because when Skullovitch looked behind him it wasn’t with fear. Rather, it was the same look he’d worn back at the phone booth, but he’d already turned back to Stone before Bulk could figure it out. “Yeah, I keep waking up with paint all over my hands lately. Think I’ve been sleepwalking again.”

“Goddammit, not again,” Stone muttered at the same time that Bulk said, “Sleepwalking?”

“Yup.” Skullovitch nodded, completely sure of himself. “‘Cause I always forget to put gloves on when I’m sleepwalking.”

With a sigh, Stone’s authoritative air vanished. “In any case, you’re still responsible for a lot of property damage. A month or so of community service, at the least—”

“Aw, come on!” Skullovitch’s fingers skittered across the desk in an anxious beat. “My dad’s gonna freak if he gets another call from you, can’t we…?”

“I’m afraid not, Eugene,” Stone said, and if Bulk didn’t know him better he’d think that Stone almost sounded apologetic.

But Skullovitch’s attention had already drifted, shoulders gone slack as he stared at the folder Stone had set aside earlier. Stone and Bulk shared a look, and Bulk poked Skullovitch’s shoulder. Immediately, Skullovitch’s arms twitched up into a beseeching gesture. “You workin’ on busting Ronnie’s drug thing?”

Stone’s eyebrows went up, and Bulk’s stomach sank. “And what makes you think that?”

Skullovitch pointed at the folder, and the piece of paper sticking out that said “ _growing evidence of a narcotics trade_ ” in bold.

“Ah.” It was a testament to Stone’s professionalism that he kept his cool even as he nudged the paper into the folder. “Details on that are classified.”

“That’s cool.” Skullovitch shrugged. “‘Cause the only drug thing I know goin’ on in Angel Grove is the thing that Ronnie’s trying to get off the ground. No one in Angel Grove actually buy drugs, so he’s tryin’ to pass it off as ‘Ranger dust’, right?”

The office went silent. Stone stared at Skullovitch, Skullovitch grinned at Stone, and Bulk glanced desperately between the two of them hoping that what was about to go down did not go down.

* * *

It went down.

“So,” Skullovitch said cheerfully as Bulk escorted him out of the station, unperturbed that the escort involved a painfully tight grip around his forearm. “That went well, yeah?”

“Justice is dead and you suck.”

Skullovitch nodded, with a sly, sideways glance. “Yup.”

The back of Bulk’s neck went hot. Shoving Skullovitch out the door didn’t help, especially when Skullovitch didn’t take the hint to beat it and instead loitered by the door, sidling back to Bulk’s side. Bulk could have just gone back in to carry out his grievances there, but he wasn’t ready to admit defeat. If he had to stand glowering at the entrance until Skullovitch got the hint and slunk away.

“Well,” Skullovitch said, patting Bulk on the shoulder. Bulk barely managed to stop himself from jumping at the presumptive contact. “Didn’t go the way I thought it would, but I had a good time. You’re a pretty cool guy. Did you wanna come over and watch Animaniacs?”

“No. I wish you were behind bars right now."

Skullovitch laughed, and _god_ had his laugh actually gotten more annoying than it had been during school? “You’re a pretty kickass cop, Bulk.”

Bulk’s next insult died on his tongue as his mind raced through the entire afternoon, trying to figure what what had prompted what sounded like a genuine compliment. Skullovitch’s hand lingered on his arm a moment, too warm through his shirt, but before Bulk could tell him to scram he was already walking away with a wave.

“See ya later!”

Confusion and offense roiled unpleasantly together in his chest and Bulk stomped his way back to Lieutenant Stone’s office. If the door rattled hard when he closed it behind him, well, he wasn’t being petulant. Sometimes he was just too strong for his own good.

“Don’t know why I never thought about using him as a snitch before,” Stone said, not looking up from the pages of information Skullovitch had given them in exchange for overlooking the graffiti and not calling his parents. “You did good work today, Bulkmeier.”

The compliment, which usually would have puffed Bulk’s ego up, fell flat. “You sold out.”

At that, Stone did look up. “Excuse me?”

“You were talking about how big a threat Skullovitch was to the community, you made him _my_ case - and then you let him go! All for a drug bust!”

“A drug bust that would have taken advantage of the community’s admiration of the Rangers in order to gain a foothold, in return for forgiving some paint that’s been easily scrubbed away?”

Put that way, his indignation seemed really stupid. “Still,” Bulk grumbled, dropping into the seat Skullovitch had previously occupied. It was still faintly warm. “It was _my_ case.”

Stone let out a grunt that was meant to be sympathetic. “And you did great. You caught him, didn’t you? With your own grit and determination.”

“...he was sitting outside the school. I just kind of picked him up from there.”

Stone frowned. “He was at the school?”

“Uh, yeah? He was just hanging out and bugging me. Did you know he smokes and chews gum at the same time? It’s disgusting.”

Leaning back in his chair, Stone looked at Bulk, expression half contemplative and half smiling. It made Bulk’s skin crawl.

“ _What?_ ”

“Nothing,” Stone said slowly. “Just surprised to hear that Skullovitch was still skulks around his old school, is all.”

With that Stone stood up, ordering and gathering his papers. Before he left the room, he patted Bulk on the shoulder - quick, perfunctory, professional.

“Don’t you worry too much about Skullovitch walking free for now - I’m sure you’ll be seeing a lot more of him in the future.”


End file.
